Page 22 of Wolf
I shake my head. “Uh-uh. I’ve got my ownride.”
“Where?”
“There’s an industrial stockyard about a mile that way. I told you. I hate that I have to leave my home by force like this, but I’mprepared.”
“I’ll meet youthere.”
“If you make it to me when I’m still at the stockyard, then fine. I’m notwaiting.”
“Jesus,woman.”
“No, Thorne,” I say, feeling the rage rise to my throat. “You showed up, then all this shit went down. There’s no part of this story that ends where I ride off into the sunset with you. You’re a tracker. A killer. A prolific one at that. Someone sent you here for me. They may not have given you a kill order, but they gave it to them. I’d be stupid to trustyou!”
He raises his arms in frustration. “Fine.Go.”
I don’t wait to process or question my decision. As he turns back into the woods, I cross the road, jump down into an embankment, and jog the mile to thestockyards.
Sure, we helped each other out for a minute back there at the house, but I need to facefacts.
I’m alone in all ofthis.
* * *
The second I make it to my beat-up Honda Civic I keep at the stockyard, I breathe a sigh of relief. The worst is over. Ducking to the ground, I reach the inside wheel well on the front passenger side. That’s where I keep the keys. I bought this piece of crap car and stashed it here almost four years ago. Every year, I take it in for basic maintenance to keep it running. I’ve never needed to drive it anywhere. Not untilnow.
Unlocking the driver door, I throw my backpack and purse into the front seat, and jump in. I waste no time in turning the key, and give an inward cheer when the engine starts. My foot is hovering the gas pedal, ready to take off when I see Thorne standing about one car length ahead of my car. In his hand, he’s holding the same handgun he used to kill those intruders. And now, it’s pointed right atme.
12
Thorne
There’s someone in the back seat of Rose’s car, and no time to warn her aboutit.
Rose has no reason to trust me, but I’m not going to hurt her. A week ago, I might’ve. But in the space of just over a week, she’s changedeverything.
Stretching my arm outward from my chest, I aim my weapon, pray she doesn’t move, then I shoot directly at the man in the back seat through the windshield. It takes a few moments to see the result, but I trust myaim.
When the explosion of shattered glass settles, the first thing I should look for is confirmation that I hit mytarget.
But Idon’t.
My blood runs cold, bracing as I try to see how Rose is doing. I find her with her arms shielding her face from all the glass fragments flying around her head and upper body. She may have cuts and bruises, but that’s better than thealternative.
Then I look in the back. Her attempted killer isdead.
“Are you hurt?” I ask just incase.
“I’m fine,” she answers in a loud shriek. “You scared the crap out ofme.”
“Who else did you tell about this place? I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t know until ten minutes ago. I told you to trust me. Do you believe me now?” I have no idea why I feel the insane need for her to trust me. I justdo.
“I wouldn’t quite use the word trust, but, let’s just say for the sake of argument that I do. You’ve come through for me a few times tonight. And no one knew about this place. At least, I didn’t think anyonedid.”
I scan and inspect the contents of the back seat. There are cigarette ashes on the floor. The coffee in the cupholder is cool. Three sandwich wrappers are spread around. “When was the last time you looked inside thecar?”
“Two daysago.”
“Those sandwiches weren’t there, werethey?”
